Need To
by Jane Krahe
Summary: Third in what I've decided to call the Justifications 'Verse. Dean needs, and it's bad. The cracks in his denial grow deeper. Slash, Hard M, rated for a reason!


Title: Need To

Author: janekrahe

Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel

Spoilers: None

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 969

Summary: Dean needs, and it's bad. Third in what I'm calling the _Justifications_ 'Verse.

Dean was lying in bed, flipping through the channels on TV, staring but not seeing. Sam was off at a local roadhouse, on a rare bender. The last case had been bad, another goddamned shtriga, and it had made it's way through almost twenty kids before the brothers Winchester had slaughtered it good and proper. Sam decided he needed a drink or twelve, but Dean really wasn't in the mood to fend off asshole rednecks and desperate women. He'd let Sam go, hoping maybe the kid would get laid for once, and not come back till morning.

Dean had an itch. No, it was more than that; it was like a bone-deep ache. He _needed_ something, but he wasn't sure what it was. He stared at the TV. His hand had stopped pressing buttons without his even thinking about it, and he'd landed on a porn channel with bad reception. He watched for a moment, feeling numb. But then he noticed something. Among the creaks and the moans, the "mmm's" and "ooh's", he realized that both voices were male. He was watching gay porn.

Dean sighed, and reached for the remote. He froze when one of the men groaned, deep and husky, and dear God, it reminded him of Cas. The groan sounded again, and it shot straight to his cock, and suddenly Dean realized what that itching need was. Without thinking about it, he slid a hand down his stomach, thumbed open the button of his jeans, and slipped his hand inside. He grasped his swiftly-rising cock and gave it a tug. Gasping at the sharp bolt of lust, he stroked again and again, until he was fully hard. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, mind casting about for a good jerk-off fantasy. He thought of that pretty brunette in Wisconsin from several months ago. Thought of her on her knees, full lips shining as they wrapped around his cock.

Dean circled the head with his thumb, hips jerking at the feeling. He imagined the girl's fingers needing his balls, her tongue twirling him, teasing. She looked up at him with wide blue eyes, and he tangled his hand in her short dark hair, and what the fuck?

Dean's eyes snapped open when he realized the girl in his mind had morphed into Castiel. Too his dismay, the image made his hips snap, his pulse quicken. "_Cas_," he grated out through clenched teeth, not knowing what he was asking for.

"Yes, Dean?" Dean started, his eyes sweeping the room. Cas was there, suddenly, standing in the shadows next to the TV. Dean felt cold wash through him, but he couldn't make his hand stop. He fisted his cock, precome dribbling down his fingers. "What do you need?" Damn, that voice, it wormed it's way down Dean's spine, shot thick jets of lust through him.

"God, Cas, I need..." It was a damn good question, what _did_ he need? Because that's what it was about. It wasn't about what he wanted, this was about pure, red _need_. "I need... I need you, God help me, Cas, I need _you_." Dean felt his throat constrict; he hated himself for that.

Castiel's eyes darkened. Without a word, he slipped his coat and jacket off his shoulders. He moved to the bed, dropping clothes as he went. He came to Dean and placed his hand over Dean's, stilling its motion on his cock. Dean keened, low in his throat. He was so hard he ached. Castiel gave him a dark, commanding look, and Dean instintively spread his legs, and since when was he such a whore for cock?

Castiel gripped Dean's jeans and pulled them from Dean's body, ripping a startled moan from Dean. He got up on his knees on the bed, muscles moving under translucent skin, and pulled Dean's shirt over his shoulders. Lowering himself, Cas thrusted his hips against Dean, their cocks meeting in a slide of wet velvet. Dean whimpered, hands scrabbling for purchase at Cas's back. He dug his nails in and rolled his hips, seeking sweet friction. Castiel's mouth was hovering above his as they writhed, his breath hot on Dean's face, and if this were something he _wanted_, instead of just _needed_, he might have kissed him. Instead their lips stayed an agonizing centimeter apart as the moved against each other, slick and sweaty, tumbling painfully toward the precipice.

"Oh… oh God, don't… don't stop," Dean was babbling, and he felt himself flush at the realization. But Cas just gripped Dean by the hips and thrust harder, cocks slipping across each other in a wet slide of sweat and precome, almost too wet for good friction.

And Dean was almost there, but the friction wasn't quite enough, it was just out of his reach. His tongue slipped out from between his lips as he panted, and then suddenly there was a slide of heat against his tongue, startling and dirty. Dean opened his eyes. Cas' tongue had curled across his, and _Jesus fucking Christ_, it sent him over the edge in a white hot flash. Dean's eyes snapped close as he convulsed, his orgasm bordering on pain.

Castiel quickly follwed, Dean hearing the harsh groan in his ear, feeling the jet of scalding come on his hip. Dean ttok several deep, desperate breathes before daring to open his eyes. Castiel was staring at him, blue gaze heavy and demanding. Dean trembled under the weight of it.

"You can't lie to yourself forever, Dean." Words coming from red, plump lips, and Dean almost didn't hear them. But when they penetrated the fog in his brain, before he could even say,_ What the fuck?_, Castiel was gone, leaving Dean in an empty bed, cold come drying on his flesh, shivering as the night lingered around him.


End file.
